


Dance Little Liar

by MinminAmbus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Changed title to Dance Little Liar b/c the vibes..., In later chapters it might get a little darker (if I decide to add on), It’s not necessarily graphic violence and stuff but Minimus DOES murder people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinminAmbus/pseuds/MinminAmbus
Summary: Sometimes pink bubbly Autobots hide secrets that even their fellow nobles don’t know about. Minimus Ambus might seem to disobey the rules of his house by singing and dancing for the public to see and know, but no one knows his rebellion runs much deeper.( Some drabbles circling around SG Minimus, beyond the extroverted noble that he’s known as. )
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Dance Little Liar

Minimus was humming to himself. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence when he was in his changing room, preparing for a show. He sang and hummed as he made sure he looked as perfect as he sounded. The minibot did a small twirl and faced his full body mirror. He got way into his reflection’s personal space to check on his makeup. He had dark, glossy lipstick on his dermas, and similarly dark eyeshadow along his optic lids. He saw nothing that needed adjustments, so he moved on to finish polishing his chassis. 

The air smelled of said fresh polish, and some sort of organic flowers. The layers of polish on him were thick, even for a perfectionist covering up any scratches. What was there to hide? The last layer was a different kind of polish. Was it more shiny..? Did it sparkle just right under the stage lights and in the eyes of those watching? Did it smell more floral than the rest of the polishes? Whatever it was, Minimus finished applying it with a grin.

The minibot was downright _excited._ He always got giddy whenever he sang and danced for a crowd. It was one of the few highlights in his dull life. By day, it was full of boring war meetings and discussions with his brother that were even worse. But at night… that’s when Minimus could be free. Currently, it was already damn late into the night, but concern for sufficient recharge never even crossed Minimus’ mind. Instead of worries about that, or his life during the day, Minimus let himself be consumed by the music and the happiness it brought from him.

Another exciting thing about tonight? He was performing for an all-Autobot crowd. It sent an energy into his EM field which might just be a twinge of nerves, but joy still dominated. Usually he took to a mixed or neutral crowd… but tonight was special. Minimus gazed over at his reflection, the pink tinted light gleaming off his frame. He was damn well ready to give them a show they’d die for. 

There was a knock on the door, and someone telling Minimus to hurry up. The mech on the other side kept knocking, damn him!

“Impatient idiot,” Minimus murmured under his breath, as he sauntered over to the door. That mech better be glad Minimus was ready, ‘cause if he wasn’t, the minibot would continue taking his sweet ol’ time, just to piss him off.

Despite the rising irritation in the minibot, he opened the door with a bright, maybe-obviously-fake smile. Show time. 

During his performance, he sang and danced around the stage. A drunk patron who forgot his processor reached for Minimus as he neared the edge of the stage. It nearly caused him to stumble on the crest of a high note, but he found his footing. Minimus placed the flat of his pede high on that rowdy mech’s chest, nearly flush with his neck cabling, and slowly, almost gently, kicked him away. The mech didn’t seem fazed at all. And neither was Minimus, as he continued on. 

After the show, a few mecha attempted to make passes at him. Minimus didn’t pay them any mind. He responded to their flirtations, of course. They called him a pretty mech. He brushed his digits along their chassis and cabling. They told him he smelled lovely, like all sorts of flora. Some said crystal lilies, others cited organic flowers. Minimus pressed kisses to their cheeks and lips. He didn’t drink any of the engex they passed on to him. If any of them dared to touch him without permission, he’d smack them, maybe even scratch them with his dangerous little claws. He’d tell them off with a voice like venom in their fuel lines and push them away, leaving them sputtering. Then he’d go right back to mingling as if it were nothing.

He drank and laughed with some mecha, keeping his bright cup of engex in his servos at all times. He might have even made some friends. It was a pity that it had to end. Overall, the night was a success. The morning might come along and change that, but for now, Minimus was content. 

He had decided to try his hand at walking back to his penthouse, even as the effects of engex still buzzed in his helm. He had gotten lost, but he didn’t mind. It gave him a lovely view of the city as he sat down to watch the lights from afar. They twinkled and glowed, basking everything in warm and cool colors.

By the time he got back home and morning arrived, Minimus was lucky if he got four hours of recharge. This wasn’t the first time he got bad sleep, and _by Unicron_ it wouldn’t be the last. It was a nasty habit that tended to leave his processor fogged with exhaustion, but he revelled in it. Minimus would continue fragging up his sleep schedule if it meant he could have a sliver of freedom. He could take a nap later if his frame really begged him to. 

The minibot _wasn’t_ so joyous when his brother came to his penthouse uninvited and unannounced, fuming and raging. It did _not_ helm his helmache from his hangover and lack of sleep. Apparently Dominus figured out that he was out again.

“Minimus, goddamn it! I told you to stop performing! What will people think of our house when they see you at some— some _low class bar_?!”

The minibot shrugged at his brother’s yelling, simply giving him a mischievous and tired grin, “When have you known me to listen?”

Dominus threw his servos up in frustration, letting out an extremely pissed huff. Minimus had to cover his mouth with the back of his servo, restraining a laugh. Then Dominus reached for his datapad. He glared at the thing, and with a few hard taps, he decided to turn it over to Minimus.

“Read it,” he ordered. It looked to be some sort of news article, one of those disturbingly boring ones that were so long that the words seem to merge and mix together.

“I don’t exactly know what—” then he saw the headline. ‘A Dozen Autobots Dead from Lethal Poison. Authorities Suspect Decepticon Meddling.’ Minimus had to cover his mouth because of a different emotion. _Oh my god..._

“What—” Minimus started, only to be interrupted by Dominus.

“This was the damn bar where you performed. What would happen if _you_ were poisoned?!” he shouted. A mech who didn’t know Dominus might mistake this for a mech caring for his brother. Minimus wasn’t that dumb or inexperienced, as some might like to think he is. Dominus’ concern was about the Ambus family and his own power. _Oh, if Minimus died, who will take his place? Will the new second of the house want more control? Oh,_ how Minimus _hated_ that. He was used to being thought of as an asset, but by god, he _hated it_.

“Well, I wasn’t, was I?” Minimus said, “So what even is the use of speculating?”

“Idiot!” Dominus hissed, “You go through life blindly! No plan! You’ll get yourself killed like that. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you from the Ambus family when I came to power.”

“ _We!_ When _we_ came to power!” Minimus snapped back.

“You never had a chance at gaining any sort of power, Minimus. I thought you were smart enough to see _that._ I see that I was wrong.”

 _That_ was a new low, heh. A far cry from Dominus’ promises that he and Minimus would finally have power over their lives after Regimus and Ignimus were dead. It was even a further cry from when Dominus cried to Minimus, practically begging for his forgiveness for a punishment he didn’t even give. Sometimes Minimus just wonders what changed in him. Maybe nothing did. Dominus could have been living his whole life as a lying manipulator. Well, his act sure worked on Minimus. ...Whatever. Minimus just wanted him to leave.

Dominus continued on, like what he said was nothing, “I wasn’t hard enough on you for your childish little performances and I can see _that_ was a mistake. If this wasn’t a sign for you, then I don’t know what will be. Important Autobots died, Minimus. You could have been among them. Things will change. I will make sure of it.”

Deciding not to give Minimus the last word, Dominus stormed from the room, leaving Minimus alone with his thoughts.

Minimus stood in the middle of the room, his plating still flared from his anger. He watched Dominus leave with his burning golden optics. The minibot let out a shuddering vent as the door slid shut, stepping towards the tall windows of his penthouse. He pulled out a chair from a little round table, electing to lean on it instead of sitting down. He covered his face with a servo, hiding a lopsided smile from no one. The minibot let out a laugh to himself.

“Only a dozen?! They should probably update their death counts,” he huffed, happily pacing around the chair. “Either that, or I’m getting rusty. That should have killed more than just a _dozen_.”

The mech finally chose to stop lazily dancing around the chair, sitting down to look out the window. This part of Iacon wasn’t as war torn as others, but still the remnants of the fighting could be seen. Glowing billboards of propaganda were scattered about. In the distance, Minimus could sometimes see jets flying through the air, and even more rarely he could see some shooting at each other. Sometimes they fell through the air and crashed, in some distant part of Iacon. Even without the view of the city, it would be obvious to some distant onlooker that something was wrong with Cybertron. Propaganda and war speeches flooded nearly all the media. For a mech this deep in Iacon, it was difficult for Minimus to find anything but war reports. The same droning voice debated the war, only to the extent the Prime allowed him to. Angry talk show hosts yelled about how the Decepticons were a flawed cause, their words sounding too much like the Prime’s. Minimus agreed somewhat. He didn’t think that people’s voices should be shot down or that tyranny and total anarchy was acceptable, no. He just felt like the Decepticon were far too hopeful for their own good. They believed in the selflessness and the good in people a little too much. 

Minimus knew people were selfish and couldn’t just be magically convinced into believing something better, whether it was Functionist nobles who had too much or angry peasants at the bottom of the hierarchy. They had to change and think for themselves, and that was nearly impossible on its own.

Minimus had enough of it. He was sick of the Autobots. He was sick of people who wouldn’t listen or change. He was sick of his family. He was sick of his brother.

The only solace Minimus could find was in a bottle of engex and vials of poison. One of those things he indulged in far too often to be healthy. It filled a void that emptied itself once more by morning. The other he carried with him at all times. It was a source of comfort for him, almost. He held it close, only ready to give up mere drops of it to the energon of those in his own faction. There was only one time it touched his own frame. Last night. The performance. 

Minimus had come up with a lovely idea then. He had heard of organics that secrete poison through their very skin. It was intriguing and impossible, but somehow those little squishy things managed it. Minimus wanted to know how he could do that. How could he make touching him without permission punishable by a lovely, slow death? 

Minimus knew the types of poisons in his arsenal, and how some of them could be countered or dulled. A few of them didn’t melt through some types of polish, especially when it was applied in thick layers. Minimus’ servos might have faintly trembled as he put the poison on his plating. If he was wrong, it would have eaten right through his armor and maybe even beyond. If it had been mixed incorrectly, the toxins could have reacted with his polish and lit on fire. Minimus didn’t exactly know _what_ would happen, and it wasn’t like he had anything to properly experiment on, especially since his little poisonous game was a secret. It worked though, without any burns or melting. Minimus had thanked Unicron for it, hoping that everything else would go as smoothly. It smelled _awful_ though. Maybe it was trying to react with the polish or whatever, but it was not a pleasant smell. Minimus had to cover it up with perfume that left him smelling way _too_ floral, even for his own preferences. He went about shaking hands, hugging, and even pressing poisonous little kisses to all of those unfortunate Autobots. It was a potent poison. It wasn’t like the normal stuff that needed to touch the wiring or be ingested. It was full of nanites that actively sought out the fuel lines and the pink within. It was a genius kind of poison. Minimus’ favorite.

This wasn’t the first time Minimus had caused chaos among the Autobots with a little bit of poison. Rotten conjunxes and disgusting nobles had fallen victim before. No one suspected Minimus for it though. He played dumb, his favorite little game to play. He’d even taken in some of his own poison once — not nearly enough to be deadly, but just enough to be convincing. He wouldn’t _ever_ get caught. It was nearly _impossible_ for him to. In fact, it _was_ impossible. At least, that’s what Minimus believed, as he sat down, grinning at the skylines of Iacon.


End file.
